“Do you mean it?” Dare asked the moment his lips released hers.

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes lit with passion and love. She traced a finger down the opening of his dressing gown, exposing the length of his chest, reveling in the feeling of his warm flesh beneath her fingers, breathing deeply to fill her lungs with his wonderful scent. With an impatient noise, she pushed the dressing gown off his shoulders, then bent her head so she could press kisses along his collarbone. “Yes, I do mean it. It’s my very favorite rug.”

Dare chuckled as he pulled her close to his chest, then rolled over until she was pinned beneath him. “That’s not what I meant, wife, and you know it.”

She allowed her dimples to peek out at him. “Oh, you meant that other thing? The bit about my being in love with you? Yes, I meant that as well. Truly, it is a miracle, though.”

His head dipped to taste that very sensitive spot behind her ear. Pleasure rippled through her at the touch of his lips.

“It is a miracle because I failed to give you what you wanted from me?”

“No.” She tugged on his hair until he looked up. “You gave me what I wanted—a handsome husband, a return to the ton, consequence and position. It’s not your fault that evil man devised a plan to try to take it all away from us. The miracle I refer to has to do with the fact that I was beginning to think my mind was slightly defective, and that I was unable to love, but I know now that such thoughts are sheer foolishness. My mind is just as strong now as it has ever been, which is a great relief to me, as I was unclear how I was to correct the defect and make it more to your liking.”

Dare smiled down at her, one hand brushing a strand of hair back from her forehead. “Your mind is utterly unique, Charlotte, and I wouldn’t want it to change one iota.”

She stared up at him, silent, watching him as he watched her, extremely aware of the fact that his bare upper body was pressed against her upper body, his arms braced along either side of her head, his mouth, that wonderful mouth, only a few inches from hers. His head dropped slightly until his lips were brushing against hers.

“Wife, I think we would be more comfortable if we were to continue this in your bed.”

“Oh?” Hope, desire, love, passion—the emotions surging to life in her were too numerous to be separated and named. “You are tired? You wish to sleep?”

His lips were sweet as honey upon hers. “No, I’m not tired, and I do not wish to sleep. I wish to make love to my wife.”

Charlotte blew out a little breath of anticipation. “Are you sure? You were most adamant the other day—”

“I’m sure,” he said, his voice husky with desire. “But what of you? Do you still want me? Can you want a husband who has failed so dismally to provide for you?”